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The detective rolls her eyes. “Cursed?”

“Yeah,” the blonde says. “He angered some old lady and she cursed him, so now he stops to talk to every beautiful woman he passes by or else she’ll come back. Isn’t that what you told me?”

I look across the table into her glaring eyes. “Well, I...” I clear my throat, trying to play it cool. “You know, I’d love to tell it again. How about you two meet me back here tonight and the three of us⁠—”

“It’s heterochromia.”

I deflate.

The brunette wrinkles her nose. “Hetero-what?”

“Heterochromia.” The detective chuckles. “He’s not cursed. It’s a birth defect. He only told you that to get in your pants.”

The girls slink back in disgust. “Oh...”

“Go home, ladies,” she says.

They titter and snort as they walk away, bolting for The Smoothie Zone across the street.

“And, for god’s sake, stay in school,” she adds.

My lips twitch. I should be more offended. I crash and burned last night, but this was round two. I could easily have taken home a double prize. But suddenly, that stiff, tight-lipped woman across from me relaxed her shoulders, cracked a joke, and I don’t care about anything else.

“Heterochromia,” I repeat.

“My daughter has it.” She picks up her folder. “Guess I don’t find it as cute when it’s used to nail jailbait.”

I swallow. “Fair enough.”

She stands up and drops a business card on the table in front of me. “Mr. Murray, I’ll be in touch with you if I have more questions. In the meantime, don’t leave town.”

“Oh, I won’t, Detective.”

I turn to watch as she leaves, letting my eyes travel from that high ponytail all the way down to her strong legs, feeling a little whiplashed by the whole encounter. She stopped just short of accusing me of murder and cockblocked me. I should be furious, but I can’t keep myself from picturing those pink lips again.

She pauses by the truck and knocks on the window to get the other detective’s attention.

He stomps out of my truck carrying a half-eaten burrito in his hands and holds it up at me. “You don’t mind, do you, slick?” he asks, his mouth full.

I wave. “Knock yourself out, Detective.”

He smiles and they walk off together.

I sit back, pushing every primal urge I have to the back of my head so I can think through what just happened.

Canon is dead. I knew that, but I didn’t know that I’m officially a suspect. If that information gets back to Daniel Quinn, I’m in deep shit. I can only imagine how he’d react to finding out that someone on his payroll sparked a mob war.

I pick up the business card in front of me. Boston Police Department. Anna Silva. Pretty name to go with the face. I wonder how she’d look with her hair down and bent over with my hands in cuffs because I’m a murder suspect and that’s probably all she wants to do to me. Period.

Priorities, man.

I pocket the card and stand up to get back to work.

CHAPTER 5

ANNA

“So, whatcha think?”